


i wouldn't mind

by fakeplasticlily



Category: Free!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, idk what this is tbh, these two being gross what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeplasticlily/pseuds/fakeplasticlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Makoto tries to bake, and Haruka is jealous of a cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wouldn't mind

**Author's Note:**

> based on a prompt by Lana, which involved: makoharu, a cake and a cat.

When Haru finds himself at the foot of the steps to the shrine, he's taken by surprise for a moment. He feels like he's been walking for hours, but really, it hasn't taken him even half the time it does on other days.

And Makoto isn't with him; and just that fact alone is enough to make him pause, confused, at the point he's passed every day for nearly all his life.

He'd had to put in a few extra hours of work today with some last-minute training for the Iwatobi Swim Club kids he coaches; regionals being only a week away. Usually, Makoto waits for him after his kindergarten class gives over at 3--which is when swim practice starts for the kids Haru coaches--and two hours later when that's over they walk home together. But for this evening they'd made other plans, so Haru had urged him to go on home before him and start making preparations.

Which included: dropping by at the corner store on the way home to pick up baking ingredients, and--when he returned home--placing them on the kitchen table and exiting the room without touching anything. That last bit was important, Haru had stressed. Last time Makoto had been left alone in the kitchen, they'd had to repaint one of the walls.

Haru knows by now that he always subconsciously walks much faster when he isn't with Makoto, so the walk home tends to go by much quicker. But it still _seems_ longer, without Makoto at his side, without his voice washing over him like light summer rain.

Shaking away these sentimental thoughts from his head, Haru makes his way towards the familiar steps leading up to the shrine.

When he's at his door, he pauses again. There's something about this moment--standing before the door he's walked through more times than he could count, knowing Makoto is on the other side, doing something completely mundane--dusting a side table in the living room, perhaps; sitting at the dining table, idly scratching between his toes as he reads the newspaper; nodding off on the couch with the television on; or putting a pair of shorts they'd missed earlier in the wash--

\--There's something about all of this he doesn't think he'll ever get used to: the warmth that spreads to every inch of his body, and the way his heart feels full enough to burst simply from knowing this. Makoto has always felt like home to him, but this--this reality that Makoto is truly, tangibly home now, that coming home really does mean coming to Makoto, and not just a constant, hopeful ache every time he sees Makoto holding out a hand to him, or waiting for him on the steps--is enough to make his chest constrict till it's difficult to breathe.

He waits for a long moment for his heart to stop racing before he turns the key in the lock.

When he opens the door, he sees Makoto's shoes by the wall, and a fresh wave of warmth spreads through his body. They've been living together for three months now, and bit by bit every inch of the house has become permeated with Makoto's presence, even more than it used to be. All of Makoto's clothes are in the wardrobe they share now, not just the ones he'd leave behind in case he slept over; his aftershave has a permanent place in the bathroom next to Haru's own, and the bedsheets smell of him all the time.

He remembers helping Makoto move the last of his belongings, crossing the threshold of his house and shutting the door behind him. He'd turned around then to see Makoto smiling that soft smile that never failed to make his heart skip, as he held out his arms and said "I'm home, Haru."

The memory alone is enough to make him blush, and he ducks his head and quickly focuses on taking off his shoes, placing them next to Makoto's. 

"I'm home," he calls.

When he used to lived alone, he'd only murmur the word under his breath out of habit, but these days he finds himself subconsciously raising his voice, eager for Makoto to hear. And answer, "Welcome back."

... Which doesn't come today.

The silence starts to ring in his ears almost ominously, and a split second later he notices a strange smell coming from the direction of the kitchen. At once, he hurries down the hallway towards it.

Hurtling to a stop at the door, he places a hand on the doorjamb to steady himself and there's a cry of "Makoto!" almost upon his lips, when he registers the goings on inside the kitchen, and freezes.

The kitchen looks like a small sized battlefield. There's a fine dusting of what looks like flour over everything in the room, and there's _something_ bubbling on the stove, slowly oozing down the sides of the saucepan. 

And in the centre of the madness, Makoto is sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to the door, shoulders slumped as he pets one of the many neighbourhood cats they've semi-adopted, giving them free reign in and out of the house.

"You must be wondering what happened here, don't you, sweetheart?" Makoto sighs, addressing the cat on his lap. Haru twitches, puffing his cheeks at the endearment though he's heard him use it countless times before, suddenly irrationally jealous of a _cat_.

"See, I tried to make the cake before Haru came home to surprise him!" Makoto continues in a miserable wail. "I looked up so many beginner's recipes for this too, I don't know what went wrong! I didn't even mistake the sugar for salt this time," he sighs, scrambling to his feet, and the cat scurries up his arm to perch on his head.

He steps up to the kitchen counter, massaging his butt. "No, this time I _slipped_. And in the process accidentally changed the oven settings and got flour everywhere!" He reaches up to the cat, and scratches lightly behind its ears. "You're a good listener, you know that?" he smiles, "You're so patient, and I know you'll never judge me."

From his perch atop Makoto's head, the cat curls its tail around its body and--surely Haru must be imagining this--but he looks around directly at him with what sounds uncomfortably close to a self-satisfied purr. 

Haru grits his teeth. _Oh, it's on._

"--So is Haru too, of course," Makoto continues, his voice growing softer, and Haru freezes. "He tunes out sometimes, but I know he's always listening. It's so like him, always paying attention in his own quiet way. That's what makes him the kindest, most special and most beautiful person I've ever known." 

Haru's breath hitches. Maybe the cat could stay a little while longer.

Makoto lowers his head, and stares down at the countertop. "That's why I wanted to surprise him today, because it'd make him smile and if I can see him smile and know it's there because of me I wouldn't need anything else in the world."

Quietly, Haru pads into the kitchen. Coming up behind Makoto, he leans forward and rests his head on his back.

Makoto inhales sharply, and gasps, "Haru...?" 

It's not the first time he's done this; just coming up behind his boyfriend and burrowing his face in his back and wrapping his arms around his middle without a word. It's so comforting like this he usually ends up staying just so for several minutes, and Makoto doesn't move; placing his hands over his and letting Haru hold on to him for as long as he wants.

Today, though, the moment Makoto rests his hands on Haru's, Haru straightens up abruptly, grabs Makoto's left hand and holds it up to eye level.

"Makoto!" he cries urgently. "Why didn't you bandage this?"

"Ooh, um," Makoto tilts his head sheepishly and scratches his chin, and Haru isn't going to be distracted by how cute he looks when he does that, he _isn't_. "I forgot?"

"Idiot," Haru sighs, and shoves the bleeding finger under running tap water. Ever since Makoto moved in, he's taken to keeping some first-aid equipment in the kitchen, and it most certainly hasn't gone to waste.

When he's done carefully bandaging Makoto's finger, he takes his hand in his own--the large, warm hand he knows so well, always held out for him to take. Impulsively, he bends over to kiss the bandaged finger. Makoto's other hand comes up to clutch at his chest, and suddenly Haru can't stop himself from kissing every one of his fingers, the back of his hand, and turning it over to press kisses all over his palm.

When he draws back, the look on Makoto's face is all it takes to erase any shred of embarrassment he might have felt after doing that. He's wide-eyed and flushed and Haru is the only one who gets him to react like this, and see him make a face like this, and he tries very hard not to turn around and give the cat a smug smirk.

Except it's far more tempting to kiss Makoto on the mouth, so he stands up on his tiptoes and does just that. When he's done, he rests his forehead against his and murmurs, "You're an idiot, Makoto."

"Haru--" Makoto whines, but Haru shuts him up with another kiss and smacks him lightly on the cheek.

"You don't need to surprise me," he says, "It's enough for me to just--just to--" He turns away, blushing, too embarrassed to continue--

\--It's enough for me to just be able to come home to you, cook meals every evening for the two of us as you set the table while dancing like an idiot to lame pop music playing from the living room--I scold you because _you'll drop the plates!_ but then you come up behind me and put your hands on my waist and sway me to the music and I protest because _the food's going to burn_ but you twirl me around in your arms anyway and I see the smile on your face and it's hard to remember why I ever tried to protest in the first place--

\--And it's enough just to be able to stand next to you, teaching you how to cook, guiding your hands and kissing them better when you cut them like the clumsy idiot you are, but I wouldn't have you any other way, I wouldn't take any of the terrible dishes you make any other way; burnt and too salty but made by _your hands_ , and I wouldn't mind, I'd never mind if it was you, and I tell you that because it makes you smile and there's nothing in the world I'd rather see--

"I want to taste what you made," Haru announces. He turns to Makoto, pointedly opening his mouth.

"But it's a mess!" Makoto wails, "I put in--"

But Haru directs a significant waggle of the eyebrows at him, and Makoto relents with a sigh. Dipping a spoon into the thoroughly unappetising concoction in the saucepan, he places a hand on Haru's chin and hesitantly feeds it to him.

Haru chews--bravely tries not to retch--and swallows.

"I'm sorry!" Makoto cries immediately, grabbing him by the arms. "I shouldn't have fed you that--why did I? Haru, don't go into the light!"

"One more egg," muses Haru, "And half a pound of butter."

"Eh!?"

"Bring me one more egg and a half a pound of butter," says Haru, rolling up his sleeves, "And we'll fix this."

"Haru..." says Makoto, and Haru makes sure not to make eye contact with him because he's quite sure he's looking at him with those embarrassingly dreamy eyes again, and that illegally tender smile upon his lips.

When they bring out the new ingredients from the fridge and set to work side by side, Haru keeping close watch over Makoto's movements as he instructs him, he find his eyes straying to the way their hands look next to each other. He's seen them in this position for as long as he can remember, but he doesn't think he'll ever grow tired of it.

Not for the first time he finds himself picturing the rings his grandmother had left him--rings that had belonged to her and his grandfather--and how they'd look on his and Makoto's fingers.

Ducking his head, he tries to hide the blush blooming across his cheeks.

Maybe it was finally time to dig out his grandmother's old jewellery box, and pay that waterfall--that waterfall he'd fallen in love with as a child, and where, years later, Makoto had really, properly confessed to him--another visit with Makoto at last. 

**Author's Note:**

> the part about makoto confessing to haru at the waterfall is, obviously, inspired by the [rp](http://tachibanammakoto.tumblr.com) [blogs](http://nanasehharuka.tumblr.com) that have taken over my life.


End file.
